Chapter 36
HONOR
“Shit!” I exclaimed, backing up from the door. Darting forward, I covered my mouth as I bolted the lock.
Shit, shit, shit.
A hysterical giggle fought its way up my throat. Rubbing my hands over my face, I forced slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself. I could count on one hand how many times I’d cursed in my life, and I’d just shouted my mother’s least favorite obscenity out loud. I bit my lip hard, thinking of my mother’s facial expressions if she could only hear some of the things Dewalt said regularly. A tear spilled down my cheek from trying to hold back the laughter, entirely inappropriate to the situation. I wiped it away, feeling embarrassed.
“Nor? Are you in there?” Dewalt’s voice shouted from the other side of the door. “The fuck?” he murmured, and I folded my arms over my chest, squeezing tight.
“He’s not dead, is he?” I asked, putting my hand on the doorknob. “Did I kill him?”
“Open the door.”
“Is he dead?”
“No, he’s not dead. Hanwen’s fucking...He’s passed out. Now, open up.”
Unbolting the door, I cautiously pulled it open. Dewalt knelt beside the drunk man, fingertips pressed to his neck. He was still remarkably tall even when crouched. Appraisingly, with raised brows, Dewalt looked me over. Eyes nearly black in the dim light searched my face, and then his gaze shifted, taking in my shoulders, my breasts, my stomach, all the way down to my bare toes. It was only to ensure I was uninjured, but I held my breath nonetheless. His expression was unreadable as he looked back down, adjusting where his fingertips rested on the man’s neck. I watched with bated breath, waiting for his chest to rise and fall. When he finally inhaled deeply, a snore rattling from him, my body sagged in relief.
“Skies above,” I said, opening the door farther. I nearly thanked Rhia, but stopped myself.
“What the hell happened, Nor?” Dewalt asked, gripping the man on the ground by his collar and heaving him up to lean against the door frame. He slapped his face, a little too hard for just waking him. I felt bad, but didn’t say anything as Dickey pounded up the stairs, red-faced and panting.
I jumped back, covering my chest beneath the thick nightgown I wore. Though I was covered shoulder to ankle, it was far less clothing than anyone had ever seen me in. Sick of trousers, I’d taken the one opportunity to wear something more comfortable, and I’d planned on sleeping in my cloak for modesty. But, despite it being instilled in me to not be a temptation, part of me was curious if Dewalt would react to it.
“Nor!” Dewalt snapped, looking between me and the drunken fool on the ground, irritation building each moment I didn’t answer.
“I heard him fumbling around with a key, and I-I thought it was you. I thought you were perhaps mindless with drink and couldn’t get in.”
“And you opened the door without checking?” he asked, voice flat.
“Well, I did ask, but you didn’t—he didn’t—answer, so I thought—” His pained expression caused me to flush in embarrassment, and I stopped speaking.
Dewalt lifted a hand, elbow resting on his knee, and he rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his brows. “And you thought he was dead? How did he end up on the floor?”
“Well,” I started, but laughter tore up my throat. Vividly aware of the poor timing, I couldn’t help it, which only made me laugh harder. I looked to Dickey for help as Dewalt rose to his full height, arms crossed, but the boy was no help either. His mouth was parted, looking between the two of us in pure curiosity. Screwing my eyes shut, I tried again. “Well, when I opened the door and saw it wasn’t you, I slammed it closed as he started to fall into it. He—he hit his head pretty hard.” I rolled my lips inward, trying not to laugh again. “He made quite a silly sound,” I said, eyes watering. “Like a duck, almost.”
Dewalt’s mouth twitched. “Dickey, get him to his room. I don’t know how I missed him leaving the bar, but he’s at the end of the hall. Kife and Turman, you help too,” he ordered as the other soldiers rounded the top of the staircase. Fletcher stopped at the end of the hall, glancing between me and the man on the floor, before he started giggling quietly to himself.
Dewalt helped them rouse the man, pulling him to his feet with little gentleness. Pushing him against the door frame, he barred his arm over the man’s chest. “You’re going to apologize to my wife,” he growled as the man’s eyes fluttered open.
Fletcher whistled—low. All the air in my lungs left as I stared at Dewalt. The handsome, frustrating man who haunted both my dreams and nightmares alike shouldn’t have been allowed to call me his wife with such conviction. It wasn’t fair.
The drunk man’s head lolled as if it was resting quite precariously on his neck. I couldn’t move. It hadn’t fazed me when Dewalt had claimed me as his wife in front of the entire tavern—it was only an act. But this felt different. The only people present were his men and a drunkard who wouldn’t remember it come morning. I couldn’t allow myself to ponder it or else my mind would wander to a very dangerous place.
“Sorry,” the man slurred.
Dewalt grunted before cocking his head to the side. I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard him sound so threatening. “You’re sorry for scaring her.”
“I—I’m sorry for scaring her.”
“You’re sorry for looking at her.”
Silence for only a moment. Dewalt’s forearm flexed as he put pressure on the man’s chest.
He finally relented. “I’m sorry for looking at her.”
“You’ll kill yourself before you ever think about my wife again.”
“Dewalt!” I interjected, certain he’d gone mad. And yet something sweet tickled its way up my throat, forcing an incredulous smile past my lips.
“Pigeon.” Dewalt lifted his chin toward me, and I groaned over the nickname he’d tormented me with the past week. “Inside.”
Nodding erratically, I stepped behind the door. I was about to shut it when Dewalt followed, shoving the drunkard toward his men. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath before rubbing his face.
“Why are you still awake, Nor?” he asked, brows drawn together, as he closed and locked the door. I blinked up at him, skin tingling, realizing he wasn’t irritated; he was worried.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Stepping toward the fire, I turned my back to him, holding my hands out for warmth. It probably would have been wiser to insist on privacy and climb into the bed, but the heat was too tempting. In my periphery, Dewalt sat on the only chair in the room, a bit too narrow and spindly to be comfortable, and removed his boots. I’d been facing away from him the last time he’d disrobed, and now I tried not to stare.
His motions were precise and symmetrical on either side, his long fingers tucking the laces neatly inside each boot before placing them next to the fireplace. When he began to pull his stockings off from beneath his trousers, I looked away. It felt too intimate. And yet, my heartbeat quickened. I knew it was silly, knew it was only because of circumstance, but seeing a more relaxed version of him felt special. Rare.
“Why not? I thought you were tired.”
I pursed my lips. Heaving out a sigh, I decided to give him honesty. “You didn’t follow me up right away, and I—and I was worried?—”
Dewalt stood, interrupting me. It sounded as if he were unbuttoning his shirt, and I tried not to think about it. “And you wanted to feel safe before you slept. I understand. I would have been up to check on you shortly. I’m sorry for keeping you awake.”
“No,” I corrected, and my hand drifted to my collarbone as his gaze warmed my skin. With my neck bare, I felt oddly naked. I usually wore high-necked garments or my cloak, and they usually hid my burns. It wasn’t out of shame, but I preferred to avoid prying eyes attached to rude-mouthed people. Blowing out a breath, I forced myself to drop my hand. Dewalt had never asked me uncomfortable questions or seemed particularly interested in my burns. Perhaps to him, they were just scars, and he’d seen plenty of those. “I wasn’t worried about my safety. I was worried about you . They were quite rowdy when I left.”
He stepped closer, letting his fingertips skim over the back of my hand, the smallest touch feeling like lightning spreading up my arm. Turning, I was met with a broad chest, smooth copper skin, and muscles sculpted to perfection. My breath came out harsh, almost a pant, and I hoped he wouldn’t notice. My hands ached, wishing to touch and explore and press and grip. My vision hovered somewhere at his shoulder, watching as the blunt ends of his dark hair caressed his skin. I leaned toward him without thought, and I imagined the climbing jasmine in my garden, blooming as it sought the sun.
“You don’t need to worry about me, songbird. I’m not going anywhere.” Far too low, his voice reached deep within me and tugged.
I let my gaze move up the column of his throat, over his strong jaw, past his single dimple from his small smile. And when I let myself look into his eyes, searching for something I couldn’t quite name, I found it there. Warmth and uncertainty waited in the deep-brown depths, but more importantly, I found something which gave me courage. Something I knew was mirrored in my own eyes.
Hope.
It was hope which led me to raise to my tiptoes, putting my free hand on his shoulder as he held onto my wrist. And it was hope which made me disregard my previous hesitations, leading me to press my mouth to his soft, smooth lips. And it was hope which crashed around me when he froze, not kissing me back.
My eyes fluttered open, only to find his wide as I pulled away.
“Sorry. I-I thought—Oh, skies. I’m so sorry, Dewalt. I didn’t mean to?—”
I dropped my hand from his shoulder and made to step back just as his grip tightened on my wrist. I gasped when he pulled me closer, firmly pressing my body against his. His other hand stroked up my back, settling possessively on the back of my neck. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to mine. Breathing deep, he was quiet, and he held me tight for a long moment. A hint of ale and smoke nearly overpowered his sandalwood and autumn scent, but it was there beneath it all. Greedily, I drank it in.
“I’m going to kiss you, Nor. Really kiss you. And then I’m going to hold you until we both fall asleep.”
Small movements awoke in my stomach, a susurration of wings in motion. His voice had trembled when he spoke, and I worried he was trying to convince himself. I wondered if he hesitated because of the girl who’d died, and I didn’t want to force anything upon him he didn’t want.
Even if it killed me. Even if the thought of not feeling his lips on mine was a torment.
“You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t—” I whispered, but words failed me as he gently rubbed his cheek against mine. When his lips touched my ear, I shivered.
“I don’t have to—I need to. Can I?” he asked, and my breath rushed out of me.
“Please,” I begged, and then his hand on my neck slid down my jaw, his thumb gently caressing my lower lip.
By the time he finally adjusted, hovering his perfect mouth over mine, I was shaking. Bending over me, he circled both arms around my back and waist, hauling me up to my tiptoes as he pulled me close. And as I gasped, my lips parting, his lips found mine. This wasn’t like the kiss we’d shared in the temple in Astana, quick and fumbled to fool the Supreme. It wasn’t like the kiss he started in the princess’ chambers, when it had killed him to give in to his desire.
This was a calm acceptance, something sweet and soft.
Something easy.
One of his hands drifted up, gently supporting my head as his lips moved over mine. I was suspended in a state of disbelief, waiting to wake up from a dream. Circling one arm around his neck, my other hand rested on his chest. His skin was so warm and smooth, I couldn’t help it as my fingertips gently moved over him. He paid special attention to my lower lip, gently pulling and sucking, before paying the other the same attention. He was methodical, ensuring he tasted each place his lips moved. When he tenderly kissed one corner of my mouth, I couldn’t hold back my whimper. It was as if he’d been waiting for this, wanting to memorize every part of the kiss. His arms tightened around me, lifting me, and my feet no longer touched the ground.
As his kiss grew ardent, everything within me began to ache. My heart, my muscles, every point where our bodies met—lower, where I flashed red hot. Instinct told me to wrap my legs around his hips, but I stopped myself, squeezing my thighs together tightly instead. As I dragged my hand up his chest to his neck, a soft moan escaped from him, and I basked in the sound. To have this effect on him meant something to me. I’d been around men my entire life; Dewalt wasn’t the first one I’d found attractive. But he was the first one I wanted to explore and know. He was the first one I’d let touch me, the first one I’d kissed, and the only one to make me yearn.
I trusted him and I wanted more.
With so little to my name, no expectations for a life outside the Myriad, Dewalt had made me think about my future. Often, I wondered if my mother pushed upon me this life of solitude in the gods’ names as an effort to protect me from falling in love.
Had what she felt been so insistent? Had it been love that we’d reaped the consequences of? Thoughts of my mother made me ponder the idea of choice. If given a say in the matter, what would I want for my life?
Abundance—of time and love. Could it be so simple? Could Dewalt provide that for me? I didn’t know.
I grew bold the longer we kissed, eventually licking at the seam of his lips. Instead of granting me entrance, Dewalt pulled back, pressing his forehead against mine once more. A warm huff of breath skated over my lips alongside his sigh, and he gently lowered me. Holding me tight against him, I blushed when I felt something hard between us, and he bit back a groan as my stomach rubbed against it.
“Nor,” he whispered—a prayer or a confession, I couldn’t know. His head was still lowered, our breaths mingling, as his hands circled my waist. I inhaled him, eyes closed, drawing strength from his warmth and his embrace. I didn’t know what this meant, and I steeled myself for the worst.
If he told me this was a mistake, I would accept it. In his suspicions, the reliability of his derision, I’d found refuge. When he’d been distrusting of me, he’d never pretended to be anything but. It made him different from any other man I’d known; with Dewalt there was no manipulation hidden behind smiles and kind words, but instead the brutal beauty of truth. In the safety of his honesty, I could allow myself freedom. I hadn’t been able to foresee the shift to wanting, but it had been as natural as warm dirt sifting through my fingers on a summer’s day.
“Let me hold you?” he asked, and when I breathed the word yes, he pressed a kiss to my lips before pulling away. And then he stood there, looking between me and the bed, hopelessly uncertain of how to navigate what he’d proposed.
I chuckled, reaching up to cup his face as I teased him. “I’ll try not to snore, Walt.”
Head tilted back, he barked out a riotous laugh when I used the shortened form of his name—my only defense against his own pestering. He bent at the knee, wrapping his arms around my waist before carrying me to the bed. I was grateful he couldn’t see my face when he said, “Perhaps you’ll coo instead, pigeon.”
My cheeks heated, and I wondered if there would be an expectation of intimacy if I crawled into the bed with him. I knew I wasn’t ready for it. But I’d already allowed him to touch me once—though the longing and guilt that pulled at me after our encounter had accounted for many sleepless nights.
Was the Myriad my only reason for hesitance? Though I was no longer a novice, I still found myself holding those rules close to my heart. I hadn’t been to a temple in weeks, hadn’t truly prayed to the gods either, and yet this lifestyle I’d been forced into had sunk its claws into my flesh. Perhaps I’d find the strength one day to leave it all behind.
When Dewalt laid down, carefully tugging me along with him, he didn’t push for more, and I scolded myself for even worrying about it. I knew by now, though sometimes crass, Dewalt was perhaps the best man I’d ever known. Almost terrifyingly honest, he would have used his words to discuss his intentions. Once more, I found freedom in his truth. I couldn’t think of anything except the temperature of his warm bare skin against my cheek and the texture of the scar on his chest where it rested beneath my fingertips. He tucked me close to his side, gently playing with my hair, and when I released a contented sigh, I didn’t bother to hide it.